


Terminal Feedback

by Voltrohgodwhat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hunk & Keith (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) Has Issues, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voltrohgodwhat/pseuds/Voltrohgodwhat
Summary: After a successful mission, Allura takes the time to congratulate the team, and unwittingly trips a defense mechanism from Keith's trauma-ridden past. Blind with protectiveness, Lance has berserk-level objections to Keith's reaction, and far too soon, things spin out of control for both boys.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Some good-ol-fashioned hand-throwing, and some mentioned whispers of child abuse. Depictions of trauma symptoms. Mild swearing. Nothing too graphic. These characters ain't mine.

Allura hadn't expected it, though in hindsight, perhaps she should have known better. The only thing on her mind was the victory of the day, and the thrill of hope and pride that burned within her at the sight of the other Paladins. She'd already traded hugs and congratulations with Hunk, Pidge and Lance, and she'd wanted to include Keith, as well. She'd approached him from behind, reaching out enthusiastically to grasp his arm.

He'd jolted as if she had burned him, and in the next instant, Allura was reeling back from his clumsy, defending strike, her hand to her cheek, where a new bruise was already forming.

A heavy, absolutely stunned silence crowded the air now, in the wake of Keith's reaction, and as it lingered, Allura met Keith's eyes, puzzled and shocked. She witnessed a range of complex emotions flash by on his face, shattering his meticulously-maintained mask: there was confusion, then sick, horrified realization, and finally, deep regret. But most of all, there was fear – fear that he'd hurt her, and fear of himself, and the things buried in his past that had come rushing forward from that simple touch.

She saw him fumbling for an apology, while the words stuck in his throat, and the pain in his eyes made her heart ache for him. Neither of them got time to speak up, however.

"What in the HELL is wrong with you, you jerkwad?!"

"Why would you do that, Keith? Holy quiznak!"

"Are you okay, Allura? Keith, get away from her, _now_."

The shouts of the Paladins rang out, destroying all possibility of recovery. Lance was quick to advance on Keith, cursing with venom, and shoving the Black Paladin back harshly. Hunk and Pidge went to Allura, pulling her away from Keith, inspecting her face and casting furtive glances at Keith, like he was a dangerous animal. Allura barely registered their urgent whispers and names for Keith; names like 'jackass' and 'hothead'. She was still trying to process the jarring moment, while fighting the urge to weep for what she's seen in Keith's eyes.

In the delay, Lance's fist met Keith's jaw. Keith made no attempt to block him, and went down with the strike – a strike that had been a mirror of his own, but carried purpose and coordination instead of wild reflex. The wall beside him provided a balance, but only enough that Keith barely managed to guide himself to his knees.

Lance didn't stop there. He advanced further, kicking out unreservedly, and hitting Keith in the head. Keith curled in on himself in a ball of tension, hiding his face behind one hand to block the sight of them, but doing nothing to protect himself, as the memories and shame struck him harder than Lance could ever hit.

"How do you even justify that?" Lance snarled, looming over him. "I know you're violent as hell, but is that just what you do now – punch people because they want to talk to you? Punch _women?!_ You're a quiznaking disaster, you absolute _psycho!_ "

Dread slammed into Allura, and she knew she had to try to stop this. "Lance-"

"Don't worry, Allura, he's not coming anywhere near you again. Are you, you crazy asshole? You should be locked up for that. Are you even gonna apologize to her?!"

Enraged, Lance lashed out again, his foot meeting Keith's side. It wasn't a full-force kick, but Keith reacted with a violent flinch, and he'd started to tremble, from something that wasn't just physical pain. The attack broke the deadlock of his speech, however.

"I'm sorry!" he choked out. "Sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Are you freaking kidding me right now?!" Lance bellowed over him. "Why are you apologizing to _me?_ It's Allura you hit!"

But Keith kept repeating his apology, over and over in a sick mantra, without strength or sanity to stop. Lance's blind protectiveness for Allura didn't allow him to see this, or to see the way Keith shook and rocked himself; didn't allow him to hear the shockingly broken, terrified fracture in Keith's voice.

Allura, Hunk and Pidge, however, immediately spotted what Lance's love couldn't, and any semblance of anger from Hunk and Pidge drained away, as they all realized Keith wasn't quite in the room with them anymore.

"Lance, knock it off!" Hunk warned. "You're scaring him!"

Lance ignored Hunk completely, taking another swing at Keith. There was something about that – something in the way Keith cried out, perhaps, or in the raw, out-of-control fury with which Lance attacked – that finally gave Allura the power to move. In the blink of an eye, she tore from Hunk and Pidge, racing over to Lance, and lunged, intercepting his fist mere inches from where he'd been about to hit Keith again.

"Stop this," Allura implored sharply, easily pushing back, as Lance tried to fight her grip. "Lance. Stop it!"

Lance gritted his teeth. "Allura, _stay back_ -"

"I SAID STOP! THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Her commanding, ruthless bellow drew a miserable cry from Keith, but it was a necessary price to pay to break Lance out of his rage-clouded mind. Stunned, Lance relaxed his fist from Allura's hold, stumbling back and blinking.

"He didn't mean to attack, Lance," Allura said gently, coming between him and Keith, and moving them both further away. "It was an accident."

"He hit you..." Lance murmured uncertainly.

"I know that, but he _didn't mean to_. It was a reflex on his part – I just startled him, that's all. I'm fine. We can discuss it when he's better."

Lance eyed the bruise on her cheek.

" _Lance_. I'm fine," Allura added sharply, before he could object. "Keith isn't, though, and you must stop this now, for his sake."

And then, _thank the Ancients_ , Lance's blinders faded away at long last. He stared openly at Keith, no longer seeing a hateful, aggressive threat. He paled as realization hit; as he recalled the position he'd been standing in over Keith, while screaming at him and hitting him. Even if the strikes hadn't been made with the fullest strength, it was the same exact position they'd all seen countless adults take up in Keith's childhood memories.

It was an abuser's stance.

"Keith?" Lance blurted, voice devoid of ire, and wavering with sorrow.

They all witnessed the flinch this drew from Keith – witnessed it, and hated it. In the new-fallen quiet of the hangar, they could hear his jagged, uneven hyperventilating, and the tears behind it. Even in the depths of panic, these were tears that Keith tried to suppress and keep hidden, out of _years_ of survival instinct that taught him it was wrong and bad to cry.

Lance and Allura both moved towards him, together, their steps slow and deliberate. Behind them, Hunk and Pidge edged forward, as well, though they were less certain; it wouldn't be a good idea to crowd Keith. Not when he was like this.

The thought that _he_ had caused this to surface in Keith struck Lance hard, and he halted, freezing right in his tracks. He did little to stop the lump that formed in his throat, and the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes. Allura spared him a glance, sympathetic, but she was already going to Keith's side, moving around and carefully crouching down in front of him.

Keith cowered from her – _cowered_ , so unlike his bold and unyielding self – and tightened the arm he'd wrapped around his middle, while the hand that hid his face compensated to shield him from Allura's new position. Even so, Allura had already glimpsed his tears, and the anguished baring of his teeth.

"Keith," she called gently; softly. "It's alright. You're safe now."

He shuddered violently, but could give no response. Allura desperately wanted to reach out and pull him into a tight, fierce hug, but she knew better; he'd once told them, during the memory-sharing, that if he were ever to become like this, he wouldn't want to be touched without precautions being put into place.

Allura remembered the most critical of those precautions now, and she raised one hand, palm upturned and angled towards him, fingers splayed – slowly, _slowly_ – until she stopped, keeping that hand within his reach, but not yet close enough to touch. He didn't reach for it, but she held fast, patient and understanding. She'd hold that position until the end of time, if need be.

Lance remembered this precaution, too – and it broke his resolve. He retreated back several steps, the hot sear of panic and guilt burning in his chest. He couldn't keep a despairing sob from climbing its way out from him, and the fact that the sound was immediately answered by a startled, restrained bleat from Keith only made it worse. They were _feeding_ off each other – a horrific, twisted perversion of their competitions, emotion reflecting emotion in an ugly feedback loop.

He had to get out. He had to leave, _now_ , before he made it worse, and hurt Keith further. Crumbling, Lance wheeled on the spot, and sprinted out the door, barely avoiding being nabbed by Hunk and Pidge. The pair traded grim looks.

"I'll go," Hunk said quietly.

"Take good care of him, Hunk."

"Right back at you," Hunk replied, eyes flickering to Keith.

Then he was gone, moving as fast as his legs would carry him, in pursuit of Lance. Pidge wheeled about in the opposite direction, wanting to do the same; wanting to run to Keith, and wrap her arms around him to show him he was safe and loved. But, like Allura, she knew it wouldn't be a good idea, and she instead settled for approaching from behind Allura, before shifting down into a sitting position on the floor.

An indefinite wait followed, in which Keith twitched and hid from things unseen by either woman. Several more times, he cried out, incoherently and briefly, and each event had him shrinking back, as his mind forced him to relive the cruel strikes and curses he'd been given as a boy. He was sweating like he'd run a marathon, his bangs plastering to his forehead, and once or twice, they feared he might keel over, for how pallid he was.

His body let him back down slowly, and after the worst of it passed, Keith finally lowered his hand from his face to peek, focusing on Allura's offer and blinking unevenly. It took him some time to process what he was seeing, still caught as he was in the throes of his flashbacks, but recognize it, he eventually did. With a badly-shaking arm, he hesitantly reached for that hand, fighting to make his fingertips press into Allura's palm.

It was a signal. Weak, yes, and so delicate Allura barely felt the contact, but a signal, nonetheless; a sign that showed he could _see_ and _hear_ them again, as they were, and not as the monsters who had tortured him.

"That's it, Keith," Allura encouraged in a whisper. "Well done. Do you think you can talk with us, and let us know how you're feeling?"

Keith swallowed, pale and uncertain, as he eyed both Allura and Pidge. He was still drawing in some fairly unsteady breaths, as his jaw worked to form words, but he couldn't make anything come forward. Allura shared a look with Pidge; it wasn't a great sign, for Keith to have gone nonverbal like this. Based on what both he and Shiro had told them before, this meant his attack was severe, and it would take further efforts to pull him completely free.

Pidge took up the mantle, scooting forward a little. Thinking quickly, she drew her tablet from one of the holds in her armor, holding it up for Keith to see. She waited until he'd locked his confused, too-distant gaze onto it, then smiled for him.

"What do you see, Keith?" she prompted him. "Can you try to describe it for us?"

She turned the tablet over in her hands, slowly, allowing him to take in every angle, as if she were presenting jewelry to an appraiser. Keith tracked the movement, mouth hanging open slightly in an absent expression, but didn't react much otherwise. Pidge kept her smile for him, and inched closer still, before turning the tablet over again.

"Take a look at the color of the screen," Pidge continued. "Can you see how it's kinda transparent? And look at the two corner panels. It's just like the one you have. Can you try to tell me the texture of the corners, and what they feel like?"

The response she got this time was an improvement, as Keith gave a short, faint hum. It bore no semblance to any kind of positive or negative reply, but it was _something_ , at least. Pidge let him watch the turning tablet for awhile longer, before she tapped Allura's shoulder, and passed it over.

"Set it where he can reach it," she whispered.

Allura nodded, and cautiously took the pad from Pidge's fingers with her free hand. Keith tracked the entire process like a zombie, as Allura set the tablet down between them, and pushed it along the floor, to the point where he could interact with it, if he really wanted to.

"Now that it's closer, what do you see?" Pidge encouraged him. "Try to touch it, Keith. You don't have to pick it up if you don't want to, but-"

Keith pulled his hand free of Allura's palm, and Pidge cut herself off, holding her breath, as Keith reached with both hands for the tablet. With clumsy fingers, he scraped it up, barely able to hold onto it as he drew it close. He explored it for awhile, as if he'd never seen anything like it before, his hands running over every surface.

"You're doing well, Keith," Allura said, after a moment. "Won't you describe what you see for us?"

Again, Keith gave a hum, this one a little more coherent. He licked his dry lips, visibly trying to form words.

"What color is it, Keith?"

"...'s or… orange."

Both Allura and Pidge had to work hard to restrain the bolt of eager hope that threatened to make them cry for joy. They were both smiling now, and Pidge had latched onto Allura's arm.

"That's it," Pidge breathed. "That's good, Keith. Keep going."

"B-b-black," Keith provided unsteadily, monotone and empty. "Th-th… th… the edge. Edge. Black."

"Can you tap the screen, and tell me what's on it?"

Pidge suppressed the momentary desire to snatch it from his hands, lest her coding work be somehow ruined; this was more important than lines of data right now, and she had enough committed to memory to rewrite, if necessary. It was a paranoid worry, regardless, because Keith could only barely brush the tips of his gloves on the screen – not enough to coordinate to unlock it completely. It flared to life, and displayed its lock screen background: A photograph of the whole team, beaming and laughing openly – some with outright glee, and others with amused disgust.

Keith gave a murmur of recognition, his brow furrowing a little, as he rested his fingers on the photograph. "'karion," he mumbled.

"Yeah, Olkarion! You remember? It took us _so long_ to get everybody to hold still for that photo. Ryner looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. And then Hunk did something, didn't he? To make us all laugh like that."

There: a ghost of a smile, twitching at the corner of Keith's lips. It was there and gone again in a flash, but it had been present.

"What did Hunk do, Keith?" Allura pressed, screwing up her nose at the recollection.

"B-belched f-for the… the copy-cubes. 's fun… funny."

"Iconic moment in history," Pidge agreed wistfully. "Y'know, I was surprised he got you to laugh like that, too. Hunk's really an accomplished guy, if he can get our resident emo cat to _cackle_. It was a beautiful day."

The flickering, unsure smile returned, lingering for a little longer. "N-not a cat," he said, in a nearly reproachful tone.

"Could have fooled me," Pidge goaded. "I have other photographic evidence, of you curled up on the sofas around here. _Definitely_ like a cat."

"It's a wonder you haven't chased the mice yet, Keith," Allura added.

She and Allura 'argued' with him on the subject, ever light and teasing, as they coaxed Keith further and further out of his attack. Even if he couldn't quite make a coherent response each time, they kept at it, chipping away at the diseased darkness in his mind and heart.

They knew they couldn't pull him to complete balance, of course; despite having never actually witnessed him during a crisis, they had certainly seen the aftershock, numerous times, along with the way he kept distant and distracted for days afterward. He would doubtlessly be the same this time around, but they were able and willing to bring him at least a _little_ closer to home, especially in the absence of Shiro's rock-like presence and guidance.

A full varga passed before they managed to convince him to get up, and by then, he'd become far more aware of himself, and the damage that had been done. Beyond embarrassed by his reaction, he began to withdraw, until he was almost back to the same, laconic Keith they knew; back to his defensive arm-folding and avoidance. Despite his insistence otherwise, however, there was no denying how drained he was from his endeavor, and he was barely able to stand, with how adrenaline-shocked his system was.

Still, out of exhaustion and need for support, he tolerated the company of Allura and Pidge, as the pair finally guided him out of the hangar, before escorting him to his room to get some bed rest. Nothing was said between them along the way, and they allowed Keith to set the slow, uneven pace, even though he kept behind them in brooding silence, unwilling to turn his back on anyone for the time being.

There were many things they had yet to speak of, but for now, Keith needed to lie down, and that was exactly what they were going to let him do, regardless of the strung-out tension in Pidge's shoulders, or the lingering bruise on Allura's cheek. The threat of a potential second wave of panic meant that they must put up with the delay, and wait once again for Keith to come to them.

Neither had any objection. They never wanted to see Keith – strong, stubborn, impulsive, even weirdly _lovable_ Keith – in such a vulnerable and wounded state again.


	2. Chapter 2

On the other side of the castle, in a disused storage room, Hunk had run out of comforting words.

He spoke with his arms, instead, cradling the rail-thin figure of Lance in his wide embrace. It was a soothing balm he knew Lance often craved, and he was more than happy to provide it, even if it was no substitute for Lance's family. Hunk didn't care that the front of his armor looked like he'd run an ocean-mission, for the amount of tears there; he would stay for Lance, and let his best friend cry, even if it meant that they both drowned in those tears.

Lance, too, had expended speech – a remarkable, dire accomplishment, for him. He'd raved and ranted to Hunk in hysterical strings of disjointed anxieties, and when that hadn't been enough to quell his pain, he'd broken further, sounding as incomprehensible as Keith had, in the height of the moment. Then, Coran had found them somehow, and the tsunami began anew, as Lance was given a second outlet into which he could pour his hemorrhaging heart.

Hunk exchanged a sorrowful, silent moment with the old altean, over Lance's hunched and shivering shoulders. Coran was still greatly confused, having missed the entire event, but he was no fool, and whenever Lance's crying surged, he joined Hunk, rubbing soothing circles over the boy's back, ignoring how awkward the motion became with the bumps and grooves of Lance's armor.

When the tumultuous varga finally passed, Lance was sagging in Hunk's embrace, limp like a dead fish. Experimentally, Hunk hoisted him up a bit further, eliciting nothing more than a despondent sniffle.

"Lance, buddy," Hunk said softly, "How would you feel about lying down for awhile, huh?"

Another sniffle, and Lance nodded weakly.

"Okay. You think you can walk?"

A shake of the head, this time, and Hunk tutted consolingly. Without further preamble, he pulled at Lance again, shifting unresistant limbs, until he'd fixed Lance in a good position to lift him completely from the floor. Hunk was strong, matched only by Shiro, as far as the humans on the ship went, but even so, Lance in his armor wasn't exactly a bag of feathers.

_How did that steel vs. feathers thing go again?_ Hunk pondered distantly, as he carried Lance out of the room, with Coran close in tow.

"Hunk?" Lance's voice came as a croaking, hoarse rasp.

"What's up?"

"... _Keith_."

"What about him?"

"Is he okay?" Lance lifted his head from Hunk's chest, looking up with anxious hope.

"Pidge and Allura have him," Hunk replied. "He'll be alright, dude, even though Pidge is probably gonna drive him nuts when he gets his head back on straight. He's a tough cookie, though. Maybe even tougher than my scaultrite cookies! He's gonna bounce back, I promise, so don't worry too much about it."

"I'm worried anyway," Lance said miserably, letting his head drop again.

"I know. And, honestly? I am, too. But it's gonna be okay. Right, Coran?"

Startled out of a frowning reverie, Coran perked up. "Fear not, Lance! A nice, easy sleep will have you feeling better in no time."

"And Keith, too?" Lance pestered.

"Yes, Keith too, I'm sure."

Satisfied enough – without being remotely close to it, at the same time – Lance stopped pushing for reassurance, closing his eyes and shifting in Hunk's arms. Hunk adjusted his grip, almost dropping him, but they were in the passage to their quarters now.

Which meant, of course, that when he and Coran rounded the corner with their blue-clad cargo, they stood opposite Pidge and Allura, where the other pair were shepherding Keith into his room.

Hunk almost froze in place, but managed to keep walking, somehow, in spite of the spike in his heart rate. If he halted now, Lance would open his eyes, and see the other party, and the whole ordeal might begin anew. It was a stroke of impossible fortune, then, that Keith hadn't spotted them, too zeroed-in on his bed to notice much else. He abruptly departed from the company of his friends, his door sliding shut and locking behind him, in a final act of humiliated withdrawal.

Pidge and Allura, after recovering from their own low-key freakout at the sight of Lance, turned in surprise at the sound. Pidge cursed softly then, and suddenly, the advantage of silence was lost, as Lance stirred and sat up sharply at the oath. He glimpsed Pidge and Allura, stationed like discarded bouncers on either side of Keith's door, and his eyes grew hollow.

"Keith?" he called, loudly and desperately, eyes darting to the sealed door. "Keith!"

"No, hey, _shh_ ," Hunk warned. "It's alright. He's gonna go to sleep now. We don't wanna bother him."

"But I need-"

"Lance, he needs to _rest_ , just like you. I know you're worried that he doesn't feel good right now, but he'll be okay."

"I _need_ to _talk to him_."

"Not right now, alright? Come on. Let's get you out of your armor and into something comfy, 'cause the Lance I know doesn't wanna sleep in lumpy battle gear."

Lance reluctantly conceded, though fresh, quiet tears had sprung anew, worsening as they drew closer to, then passed, Keith's door. Hunk offered a wan smile to Allura and Pidge as he walked by, but he didn't bother stopping for niceties, intent as he was on caring for Lance.

Behind him, Coran stopped dead before Allura, eyes widening to saucers at the sight of the swelling bruise on her face, and Hunk picked up the cautionary hush from the Princess:

"Not here, Coran. I'll explain soon, but please, _not here_. Let us reconvene in the lounge."

Hunk redoubled his pace, closing his ears to Coran's stage-whispered concerns, as he finally made it to Lance's room. He had to set Lance down to actually activate the door, and he eyed his companion warily, as the Red Paladin swayed on his feet. With an arm around Lance's shoulders, Hunk quickly ushered his friend inside, moving him to sit on the bed. Lance slouched unhappily, too depressed to even undress himself. Hunk studied him, then bit back a sigh, and patiently began to remove Lance's armor, starting with his boots and gloves, and working his way inward, delicately setting the armor aside on the floor.

"Hey, lift your arms," Hunk instructed, as he reached for the chest panel.

Two spindly arms halfheartedly raised, while Hunk squinted and prodded around for the release clamps that would free the breastplate. Lance gave a mournful huff then, and Hunk tilted his head a little, indicating he was listening to the impending lamentation.

"I shouldn't have attacked him," Lance moaned, right on cue.

Hunk grimaced. "I agree. But, you did, and it's done. You made a mistake, and you've been owning up to it, even if it wasn't all your fault."

"How? _How_ was it _not_ my fault, Hunk? I scared him so bad, and he… he thought I was one of those… those _scumbags_ who hit him before! And I treated him the same way they did. I was ready to hurt him – I _wanted_ to."

"You were worried about Allura," Hunk countered. "While that doesn't really make it okay, you gotta remember that she kinda set him off in the first place… though, heck, his reaction wasn't all that okay, either."

"He can't help it."

"No, he can't, but that doesn't make it right. He still hurt Allura, even if it was just an accident," Hunk paused, weighing his words, before continuing, "If you guys respond to this stuff by lashing out like today, it's gonna suck in the long term. I think we gotta organize, I dunno, some kind of talk? To hash it out, and help both of you find ways to cope. Otherwise, we're gonna be in Voltron one day and nail ourselves in the face in the middle of a fight. Can you imagine how _embarrassing_ that would be?"

Hunk loaned every ounce of gentle humor he could to the end of his tone, praying Lance wouldn't misinterpret. The two had been friends long enough, however, that he needn't have worried at all; Lance managed a watery smile at the visual.

"The Galra would never let us live it down," he offered.

Hunk chuckled, pulling the chest piece free from Lance at last. "There we go. All free! Do you wanna do face masks real quick? I could go for some skin care."

Lance frowned. "You're staying here?"

"Uh, obviously, dude. At least for a little while, if you're okay with that, I mean. Keith might like to hole up on his own when he's moody, but I know for a fact that you don't."

"Way to call a guy out."

"Stating truths. Face masks? You can put yours on, and then lie down while I do mine."

Lance obliged, though a great deal of tear-and-snot scrubbing was required beforehand. He was still jittery from his meltdown, and Hunk stuck close by him, hovering like a mother hen, until the two of them began the routine. The method was nowhere near Lance's usual level of spa care – a telling detail, Hunk thought, of just how worn out Lance was – but the mood was lighter now, even with the shadow of unhappiness still lingering behind Lance's eyes.

At least, he thought it was… up until Lance gave that _sigh_ again.

"Hey, Hunk?"

"What's up?" Hunk mumbled, trying to avoid cracking his newly-applied mask.

"You know how you said we'd punch ourselves in the face in Voltron?"

_Uh-oh_. "Yeah?"

"What if… what if we _can't_ form Voltron after this?"

"What makes you think we won't be able to?"

Lance chewed his lip. "Like, what if Keith is too strung-out to be able to focus? What if _I'm_ too strung-out to focus? What if he never trusts me again? I'm like his right-hand man now, literally. With Shiro… gone… we need to stay together as a team, now more than ever. But if he doesn't trust me, we'll never be able to form up, and then the whole universe will be doomed, and Earth will get invaded, and my family-"

"Whoa, okay, _stop_. Slow down. Deep breaths, yeah?"

"O-okay..." Lance made the attempt.

"So, here's what's up," Hunk began, after he'd taken a few, "We're gonna take this one step at a time. First, you're gonna get some sleep. Then, after you wake up, there'll be a good breakfast waiting for you. With me so far?"

"Yeah..."

"Good, 'cause that's as far as we're gonna go for right now, 'kay? The only thing you need to worry about, in this moment, is getting that rest."

"Don't feel much like sleeping anymore."

"It's okay if you can't sleep much, buddy. So long as you're chilling here, and working on relaxing, you're doing fine."

"Don't feel like I'm doing fine, either. Never feels like that."

Hunk gave him a look. "Don't start that again, Lance. Please?" he said sternly. "You're a Paladin now, dude. Iverson was _so_ wrong – you're not just here as some random, default-choice cargo pilot, alright? Maybe being with Red scrambled your memories or something, but don't forget that when we started this crazy road trip, Blue _chose_ you, out of all the people in the universe, to be her homeboy."

"Yeah, _after_ she bugged Keith for like a year."

"Big deal! Keith wasn't the one who activated those pretty paintings. Or the one who brought Blue's particle barrier down. Far as you're concerned, he was just a crazy prophet wandering around in the desert, trying to interpret alien commandments on stone tablets."

"Wasn't that a mountain in the story…?"

"Doesn't matter. Point is, you're a good pilot, and a good person, and this team wouldn't be anything without you. Okay?"

They locked eyes in silence for an extended breath, Hunk's face unmovable and steely, and Lance's doubtful, but gaining heart from Hunk's company and attention. Only when he was sure that Lance got the message, did Hunk soften, and the moment he did, Lance broke contact, and nodded in acceptance.

It wasn't long, after that, that Lance drifted to sleep, to the sound of Hunk chattering away about recipes. In fact, Hunk was so caught up in the details of his plan for Space Stroganoff, that he didn't even notice Lance was asleep, until a faint snore cut him off mid-description.

Hunk smiled, and removed himself from the bed, then gently began working the blanket out from under Lance, mindful not to disturb his rest. Having covered Lance, he then retrieved the eye mask, headphones, and music Lance kept on standby, switching the player to a Cuban jazz playlist, before planting the eye mask and headset over Lance's eyes and ears. He very nearly bungled the entire operation by dropping the player, but by the grace of the tech gods, Pidge's 'borrowed' headphones had a locking cable that refused to release its host, leaving the device dangling inches from Lance's nose.

Lance didn't wake at all from the commotion, and his features smoothed over just a little more, brow and body relaxing further into rest. Satisfied with his work, Hunk straightened, watching for a moment, before he turned to the door, dimmed the lights, and made a tired exit.

His next stop would be the lounge, and he wasn't really looking forward to the inevitable post-action report.


	3. Chapter 3

"I need a hard drink," Pidge remarked flatly, slouching in her seat.

Hunk wrinkled his nose. "Pidge, you're _fifteen_."

"Irrelevant."

"Seriously? No. _Extremely_ relevant. Have you even had alcohol before?"

"I know you're hiding booze somewhere in that kitchen, Hunk. You keep telling me you're going to crack a good recipe for space vodka sauce."

"All the more reason that you're not getting it – it's strictly for cooking _only_. Also, I'm totally not taking care of Drunk Pidge at a time like this. I've got plenty of love for all you guys, but I need a break."

Their faces grew solemn then, with the weight of the event bringing a stern and sharp halt to the conversation. Prompted by the swing in mood, Coran looked pointedly at Allura, the absolute picture of a protective royal advisor. Allura sighed heavily, keeping her hands tightly folded in her lap, while also somehow managing to avoid looking him directly in the eye.

"You must promise me you won't do anything rash, Coran," she told him firmly. "We do _not_ need another incident today."

"'Another,' Princess? What, exactly, happened there?"

Allura opened her mouth to reply, but Pidge beat her to it.

"Keith decked Allura in the face."

_Murder_ was written in the creased line of Allura's brow and narrowed eyes, but it was nothing compared to the dark, incredulous scowl Coran gave. He stood up stiffly, fists clenched, and Hunk edged away from him doubtfully.

"How did he lift a piece of the deck in the first place?!" Coran demanded. "The alchemical welding process shouldn't allow for something like that!"

"No, Coran – 'decked' is Earthling slang for 'punched.' He didn't, like, physically tear out a piece of the floor or anything," Hunk clarified, before he winced. "Um. Yeah. Still bad, I know, but it wasn't like he hit all that hard? Wait, no, that sounds _really_ bad and enabling now, and... you know what, forget I said anything."

Coran grew impossibly solemn, surveying each of them darkly. It was an expression he usually only reserved for the worst of the galra – a fact that made them grimace, recalling that Keith _was_ , after all, part galra.

"Coran, _please_ ," Allura said, "Sit back down, and allow me to explain properly," she glared pointedly at Pidge and Hunk in turn. "It isn't as simple a matter as that."

"Princess, if the lad is a danger to you, then it's my duty to your father to protect you."

"I understand that, but again, it's not a straightforward situation," Allura was growing cross, and she almost gave up trying to keep her diplomatic posture. "Honestly, the number of people on this ship who believe I even _need_ this much protection… I am _fine_ ," she forced out. "Thank you for your concern, but I will be perfectly _fine_. I have seen combat countless times now, and this is nothing. Now, will you _please_ let me explain?"

Coran didn't like it, obviously, and made his disapproval known with folded arms and a huff. Still, he didn't make any kind of abrupt departure, and stood by, foot tapping, begrudgingly awaiting clarification.

Allura caught him up on the situation, beginning from the moment she had made the mistake of grabbing Keith, to Lance's outburst, and on to the episode and aftermath. Here, her recollection fell to a hush, and she struggled to keep a falter from her voice. Only when she relayed her impressions of Keith's state of mind, did Coran seem to relax a little, at the cost of gaining a great deal of worry.

He slouched back into his seat, tugging one end of his mustache in troubled thought. Like the others, he had collected pieces of the picture before – whispers of _abuse_ , following the shadows in Keith's eyes. He'd even pulled Shiro aside once, to inquire about Keith's health; was the lad sick? Some human disease that he'd picked up from less-than-human enemies? Was there something Coran could do to make it better? Altean medicine was quite advanced.

Shiro, with his abundance of personal PTSD encounters, had explained some of it then, and Coran had picked up the understanding quickly, having seen his fair share of young altean men and women returning from battlefronts with something… _other_ … on their minds. But the idea that Keith would react like _this_ was something thoroughly new. Suddenly, Coran found himself in the position of wishing to raise untold levels of protective force, for the sake of both the Princess, and the new Black Paladin.

He was fully confident that both would forever grumble and complain about it, but there were some things worth putting up with the griping for.

Allura watched him draw these conclusions, and the pair of them locked eyes. "You won't run off to throw him in the brig, now, I trust?" she asked.

"No, Princess," Coran sighed, "Though this isn't an issue we can wave off like a flock of gargasian frobnoxes."

"Yeah, I kinda talked to Lance a little bit about that, actually," Hunk put in. "The issue, that is, not the… thingies," he shook his head. "I know we're totally in the middle of a war, but I think it might be a good idea to do some, like, circle time or something."

"Circle time?" Allura repeated, squinting. "I'm not entirely sure what the purpose would be behind drawing circles. Unless you were referring to this act of 'doing donuts in a starship' that Lance seems so fond of?"

"No, no, it's like… group therapy, I guess? Lots of sitting in a circle and talking. None of us are really qualified to be therapists, but we could try."

Pidge rubbed the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. "If our goal is to stop Keith from punching things, that might be the last thing we should do. Can you even imagine him in group therapy? Or _any_ therapy, for that matter?"

Hunk blinked, then gained a long stare, entertaining a brief fantasy of a hissing, snarling Keith driving away a pack of screaming psychology majors with his bayard. "Okay. Maybe not exactly like that. But we still need to talk. Or get them to talk, or something."

"How do we even begin that conversation, though? We can't, like, shove them together into a cupboard and wait for them to confess their undying love for each other. It's been done to death."

"I think you may want to have a little more faith in both Keith and Lance," Coran provided. "It may indeed be that all they need is to have a little chat by themselves. From what I gathered, Lance's remorse is quite genuine."

"As is Keith's," Allura said softly. "I... saw it, the moment he lashed out. While I do not know if he will extend forgiveness to Lance, I doubt he'll be unreasonable," she glanced over her shoulder then, as if fearing being overheard, "You did _not_ hear this from me, but I believe Keith can actually be very soft and lovely when he's not hiding behind his walls."

Pidge sucked her lips in like she'd tasted a basket of lemons. "Keith. Soft and lovely?" she wheezed under her breath. "Hear something new every day on this wild ride."

Hunk gave her an unimpressed look, but was lost in thought again in moments, considering their options. "I could cook their favorite meals," he offered.

"I guess. I wouldn't mind seeing a reenactment of the Last Supper."

"Not what I meant. I know for a _fact_ now that food makes everyone less confrontational. It's a science, Pidge. The results can be replicated."

"What did you have in mind, Hunk?" Allura asked, encouraged by the idea.

"Well, obviously, it's gonna have to be some kind of empanadas for Lance," said Hunk, "And Keith… um… I mean, I know he likes Tex-Mex. At least, I think he does? It's hard to tell. He spent _way_ too long eating cold canned food in his hermit shack, so I'm hoping that means he'll eat just about anything. Do you guys know where we can get some space eggs? Also, spices?"

Coran hummed. "Well, we may have some cadmium eggs somewhere in the laboratory storage. And what do you mean by spices? I thought we already had salt!"

Hunk suppressed a full-body shudder. "...you know what, never mind, I'll figure something out."

"So we get them a hot meal," Pidge said, "And then what? Make a graceful exit and abandon them to their delightful candlelit dinner?"

" _No_. We stay with them, and try to encourage them to talk to each other, if it doesn't happen by itself. Which, it might? I think Coran is right. Those guys are at each others' throats all the time, sure, but when the talk gets real, they can be mature about it."

"Mature. Keith and Lance? Hunk, I don't mean this to sound wrong, but are you sure you didn't pick up some weird trauma today?"

Hunk's face fell. "No," he whined. "I just… I don't ever wanna see either of them that way again, y'know? Lance hasn't had a meltdown like that since we first signed up at the Garrison, and Keith..."

Pidge regretted her quip, wincing. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's not like we have any other ideas."

"It's okay. Though I'm totally conscripting you to sous-chef duties now."

Pidge threw her hands up. "Fine. I'm in, if it makes those two clowns stop spiraling."

Hunk brightened, then glanced at the alteans. "What about you guys? Other ideas?"

"It sounds like you have a handle on it," Coran replied. "If you'd like some tips on how to make a real Altean Reconciliation Feast, however, it'd be my pleasure to provide instructions on how to milk the jem-jem grub for its mucus!"

"Uh. Oh, boy. Th-thanks, Coran. I'll, ah, keep it in mind."

"And now we wait for the dynamic duo to wake up," Pidge muttered. "Bet you anything Lance sleeps all quintant. Might be a good idea to check in on them in awhile."

Allura clasped her hands together. "I'm… I'm sure it will be fine. They'll both be alright."

If any of them saw the strain in Allura's smile, or the dark worry in her eyes, they didn't say a word, if only because they all felt the same way – the same lingering doubt, that things would really be okay. No one wanted to lend voice to the idea Lance had expressed to Hunk, not so very long ago: The idea that forming Voltron would be near-impossible, with a wavering right hand, and a leader who was not quite himself.

They'd done it with Shiro, somehow, and managed to win countless victories. Still, they couldn't help but wonder if Shiro's demons were what had ultimately torn him away from them. Would similar events unfold for Keith, as well, if that were the case? Would he lose himself in the middle of a fight, and be reduced to the humble size he really was behind all his fiery instinct?

With that thought firmly planted in his head, Hunk secretly thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd experiment a little more than usual with the vodka sauce tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Stronger whispers of abuse in this chapter.

Keith's eyes shot open, as a choking, wheezing gasp tore from his throat. Air wouldn't come, any more than clarity would, and disorientation struck in tandem with terror. He was in bed, he registered – there were the sheets, beneath him, clinging to his sweat-drenched skin – and there were _hands_ ; hands pressed around his windpipe, crushing down in a deathly grip, to slowly squeeze the life from him.

As a shrieking, jackal-like, sadistic cackling and mocking filled his ears, he willed heavy limbs into motion, kicking and thrashing, fingers clawing desperately at his neck. He had to remove those calloused fingers, _now_ , before he became too weak. His lungs screamed and burned to take breath, to bring life, but he couldn't find the wrists, and air _wouldn't come_ -

"Keith! Keith, hey, whoa! Easy, dude, take it easy. You're okay. You're _okay_."

The voice startled him out of his wits, and in that jarring moment, he finally found his chest heaving, taking in gulping swallows of oxygen. Tears from the effort of survival spilled from the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away quickly. Whoever was here shouldn't see him crying. It would only make things worse, and then he'd have to forfeit his meals and clothes for the day to whichever of his caretakers had decided to toy with him.

But _who was_ _that today?_

The sensation of being watched had him jackknifing upright and scrambling back into the wall. He cast wildly around for the source of the presence, bracing himself to fight off the next bout of choking… before he found a set of familiar brown eyes peering at him with concern. These weren't the venom-green eyes of the matron, or the steely, hateful gray of his second foster father, nor even the muddy, filthy brown of the caretaker who had 'favored' him. No, this was…

"Hunk?" he rasped.

Hunk offered him a reassuring smile, and spoiled it a little by giving a childish wave. "That's me! You okay? Try to take some slower breaths, there."

Keith realized he was still breathing like he'd been running on the decks all day. He looked down at himself, still clad in his armor's undersuit, and found, to his surprise, that he was still pawing at his own neck. A faint sensation of burning pain on his skin also told him he'd scratched himself again.

Hunk winced, as he spied the red marks, partially hidden by the neck of the suit. "You have a nightmare?" he pried cautiously, even though he knew the answer.

Swallowing hard, Keith forced his hands down – _it's safe, you can breathe, dammit, so just do it_ – and looked back up at Hunk. "I… yeah," he said lamely.

"Well, when you're feeling okay again, we can put some cream on those or something. I bet Coran has some stuff that'll take care of it."

Keith avoided his eyes. "It's fine. What, uh… what are you doing here?"

"Just came to check up on you," Hunk replied, nervously tapping his fingers together. "And, um, I mean, we could talk, if you want? No pressure or anything, you don't have to talk if you don't want to, but it kinda looked like that nightmare was really bad, and after what happened, I'm kinda worried about you, plus everyone else wants to know how you're doing, and also we wanted to see if you-"

Wearily, Keith filtered out the babbling, as fragments of recollection tumbled through his waking mind. He knew, for sure, that he'd had a flashback episode; could still pinpoint the sickening surges of terror, and the phantoms that had driven him into submission. He recalled the shame, too, and got a brand new dose of it, realizing the entire team had witnessed him at his lowest.

There was also the matter of the catalyst. Of all the pieces he could remember, _that_ was the worst of them.

He bit the inside of his cheek, ducking his head, as he kneaded his hands against his tangled bedding, anxiety running amok through his nerves.

"I hit Allura," he whispered, in chaste resignation.

Hunk cut himself off mid-speech, blinking, and became abruptly aware that Keith hadn't heard a word he'd said about dinner. He took in Keith's guilty slouch and tense, closed posture, and felt a surge of sympathy.

"You know," he began, "I had a conversation just like this with Lance yesterday, after all this went down-"

"Yesterday?" Keith interrupted, startled.

"Yeah, dude. You've been out for a whole quintant. Pidge lost a bet."

"...whoa."

Hunk gave a hum of agreement. "We were all kinda worried, til Coran mentioned it was probably an adrenaline crash? But, anyway, back on point… I want you to hear me out a minute, okay?"

Keith shrugged. He knew well what was coming, but refused to acknowledge it.

Hunk pressed on. "Look. I know you feel bad about what happened, but I need to know that you know it's not your fault."

Bristling at that _hated_ statement, Keith immediately scowled. "I _hit Allura_ ," he reiterated crossly.

"And she's fine," Hunk replied, with an equal measure of sternness. "Trust me. She was kind of on the verge of lecturing all of us about treating her like a delicate flower. We both know she's a total badass warrior princess, who could probably pick us all up at the same time and yeet us into another galaxy with one arm. That said, it doesn't really make hitting her okay-"

"No, it doesn't."

Hunk puffed out his cheeks in frustration. "Keith. Dude. _Listen_ , okay? Seriously, where'd your quiet side go all of a sudden?"

Keith folded his arms across his chest, and Hunk waited with as much patience as he could muster, wishing he'd taken Allura's offer and sent her in here, instead. When it was evident that Keith wasn't going to interrupt again, however, he continued.

"Your triggers aren't your fault," he said. "You do owe Allura an apology, yeah, and Lance definitely owes you one, too. But you're not, like, irredeemable the way I can see you totally wanna be right now. Allura understands, man, and I think she already forgives you, and she'll forgive you even more when you actually _talk_ to her."

Keith was already shaking his head, his lips thinned to a hard line of disbelief. Hunk squinted at him.

"Sometimes I wonder if you and Lance are just two parts of the same person," he muttered.

"What?" Keith looked up in confusion.

"Lance. You're being a lot like him right now, just so you know. He thinks he damaged you permanently, and it's all his fault, and he's unforgivable, and he should be banished to the netherworld for all of eternity for his crimes. And, get this: Just like you, he's also _totally wrong_."

"Hunk-"

" _No_ , Keith. You're wrong. That's the only major thing you're wrong about, in this whole crazy drama scheme, and if we're gonna be, like, a team, you're gonna have to accept that."

That did… something… to Keith's determination to submit to guilt. Hunk watched him carefully, noting a range of subtle expressions flickering across his leader's face. Prior to everything, he'd never been able to discern any kind of emotion from Keith, for his extraordinary ability to mask everything with scowls or neutrality. Now that Hunk knew him better, however, he was able to pick up more clues on Keith's emotions.

Right now, for instance, Keith was clearly having an internal civil war about where to plant his shame, and what to actually _do_ about that shame. He wasn't usually one to wallow in it, the way he'd been trying to do; he was a man of action and change, much like his volatile element of fire. Fire needed fuel, and never burned for long when it was dug into a deep hole and left to its own devices.

Keith valued the lives and well-being of others, to a serious fault, Hunk knew. His bold and often reckless decisions in battle weren't just him reacting to threats or his own temper these days; he frequently jumped now out of the legitimate belief that quicker, more decisive strikes would protect his people, and cut unnecessarily long risks out of the picture.

Which, yes, Hunk had to acknowledge, _kind of_ made it a bit of a jerk move, to play on Keith's secret-squirrel worries for the team like this. But, in spite of the similarities between the two Paladins, Keith was _not_ Lance. He wasn't malleable in quite the same way, and didn't melt under reassurances all that often. Hunk couldn't replace Shiro, not by a long old shot… but he had observed enough of Shiro pushing Keith to mostly figure out how to do it.

_Fight fire with fire_ , was Hunk's thought, before he cringed, and permanently purged that particular cliché from his mind.

Keith gave a bone-weary sigh. "I hate this job."

Hunk chuckled. "What, being the head?"

"I'm not… _used_ to having people… rely on me?" Keith tried. "Uh. It's, uh, it's different."

"I think you're doing pretty well."

"Am I?" Keith scoffed. "I'm not Shiro."

"No one expects you to be."

"But Shiro could keep his demons under control!" Keith snapped back, running an agitated hand through his hair. "Yeah, he had times where he'd react weird, but he never let it get in the way of the team. He always found a way to fight it off. How do I _do_ that?"

"Honestly? I'm not actually all that sure. I just know that, out of all of us, you're the choice that makes the most sense to lead us. Even with your problems," Hunk added, halting Keith's inevitable protest with a hand. " _Even_ with your problems, you still do good."

His _problems_. Keith visibly flinched at the mention of it all, and just like that, he was right back to his insecurities. So much for motivation by flame. "I wish you hadn't seen all that," he said in a whisper. "I'm sorry you had to."

"You don't need to apologize for that, Keith. It's not your-"

"Will you please quit saying that?"

Hunk closed his mouth, taken aback. He watched the tension in Keith's shoulders build up; watched, as his hand subconsciously went to rub and paw at his throat again. "You really don't like it when people say that, do you?"

"Forget about it. Just stop."

"I'm not gonna, dude. None of us are ever gonna quit saying it. You're gonna hear it a lot more after this: From Allura, from me, from Pidge and Coran, and _especially_ from Lance."

Keith growled; actually, fully _growled_ , from the depths of his chest, in a way that briefly made Hunk question how much of it came from his galra genetics. " _Don't_ , Hunk. I'm sick of hearing it."

"How come?"

"What?"

Hunk threw his hands out. "How come? Why are you sick of it?"

"Because..." Keith gritted his teeth, fists clenching. "I just am. Okay?"

"Mm, no. See, that's not really an answer? 'They don't think it be like it is, but it do,' is a meme, not a reason."

"They… _huh?_ " confusion radiated from Keith.

"Never mind. Just tell me why you don't like being told it's not your fault."

"I don't wanna talk about this right now," Keith replied, with both a measure of sharpness, and a slightly greater measure of scared withdrawal. "Please stop."

Seeing the fear return to him had Hunk pulling back the guns right away; clearly, he was poking an old wound of Keith's, and it was something to be dealt with at a later time. "Okay," he conceded gently. "I'm sorry. I just wanna help you, buddy."

"I… I know. And, uh… thank you," Keith paused awkwardly. "Um. How's Lance doing, anyway?" he said, desperately trying to veer away from the subject. "You said he was kinda the same, so..."

Hunk sighed. "Honestly? I think he'd feel a lot better if he knew you forgave him."

"Hmm."

"Do you?" Hunk eyed him, noting the way he had gone back to holding himself, with a near death-grip on his forearms. "It's okay if you don't yet, but-"

"He was looking out for Allura," Keith mumbled, glancing around, as if looking for something in the room. "He had a good reason to be afraid."

"No. Big no," Hunk scolded. "You're not dangerous-"

"I _am_ dangerous!" Keith barked, with blazing ferocity. "I'm dangerous. What if I hadn't just hit Allura? I know exactly what I felt like. I could have grabbed my blade. I could have _stabbed_ her-"

"You didn't, though. And you know what Allura told us? She told us what she saw in your eyes, literally the second you figured out what was up. She said it was _regret_ , dude."

"It was. It is."

"So, you had the presence of mind to know what happened wasn't okay. Even if you were acting on instinct-"

"You don't know about my instincts!" Keith's voice shook, and once more, the rage bled away into fear, as his eyes kept roving the room. "Every… _every_ damn day," he blurted. "Every single day, I feel it. I feel like… there's this crazy shadow chasing me around, waiting for me to lose my mind. A-and when I do, when I can't control myself, it steps in, a-and I… I see them, all the time. Everywhere. They come after me, but it's not _them_ , it's always someone else, but I can't stop myself because they're gonna hit me. They're gonna hit me, and I-"

He stopped. He was dangerously close to tears, but held like a vice to his composure, determined not to embarrass himself all over again. His fingernails were in danger of piercing the fabric of his suit, and he was certain he would have bruises from it later.

"Keith."

" _Wha_ _t?_ "

"Look at me a minute, alright?"

It was a fight and half, to force himself to look at Hunk. His mind shrieked its klaxons, warning him away – _don't look in the eyes_ _again_ _, you fool, they HATE_ _it when you do_ _that_ _too much_ – but he resisted. He looked anyway, bracing for hell, only to find, once more, a patient kindness.

_This is Hunk. Your teammate._

"You're safe," Hunk whispered, smiling reassuringly. "Nobody here is gonna hit you – I'm pretty sure you put Lance off shoulder-bumps for life, at least."

"Lance," the name fell from Keith's lips. "I-I… I forgive him."

"Yeah? That's good to hear. I think he'd like to hear it from you, too."

"He hit me. I forgive him. Why? I don't forgive _them_."

"Maybe it's because you know Lance, and you know he's a good person," Hunk's look darkened then. "I don't know who hurt you, Keith, or what exactly they did to make you hurt, but whatever it was, it was clearly wrong. You don't owe those people your forgiveness. They don't have remorse. They were cruel to you, and that's terrible, and if I ever meet them, I'm probably going to make sure they get chronic food poisoning for hurting my friend."

_Friend_. The word was exotic to Keith, and yet, there was no lie in Hunk's eyes or tone as he spoke. No deception; no awful trick to get him to cooperate with his own misery. He thought, maybe, for a little bit, he might actually… _believe_ that. Believe in a friend.

_This is Hunk. Your friend._

"Can I ask you something?" Hunk said, breaking through his thoughts.

"I guess."

"What's your favorite kind of food?"

Keith blinked. He'd been expecting the beginnings of an interrogation, perhaps; a picture of his bloody past, or some kind of prying about how he was feeling. But _food?_ He supposed it was Hunk, after all, but still.

"Uh," he blurted eloquently.

Hunk's smile returned to full strength. "Anything you want. I can't really guarantee it'll be _exactly_ the same as you're used to from Earth, but-"

"Chili's good," Keith found himself answering. "The spicy kind."

"Yeah? I can do that. I think," he paused. "Don't mention it to Coran for the moment, though."

"Why do you ask?" Keith said suspiciously.

"Well, because. Uh. We've been chatting a little bit, and we think it would be a good idea to sort of figure out some kind of talk over dinner. With you and Lance, but, uh, mostly with you."

Keith glared. "A talk," he repeated flatly. "You're staging an intervention over food?"

"It's not an intervention, not really. We just wanna see if we can come up with something to help you out more. I know that… that Shiro being gone has kinda taken away your go-to for talks. We were all sorta hoping to pick up the slack there, y'know? We can't _ever_ replace Shiro. But we're still kind of a space family out here, and… aw, man, Keith, you're like my brother now. I wanna take care of you."

Even before he'd finished speaking, Hunk saw an unspeakable level of pain settle over Keith. It was a bittersweet sort; the thought of Shiro, and the thought of brotherhood, slammed into him with the force of a ramming galra battlecruiser, stirring conflict and debris all over. It was hard to say what Keith would make of it, but the thought that Keith struggled with the idea at all made Hunk's heart _ache_.

"Keith, buddy?"

"Y-yeah?" Keith croaked out.

"Can I… I mean, you can absolutely say no to this if you want to, I want you to feel comfortable, and feeling comfortable is gonna be a good step towards you feeling better-"

"Hunk. Spit it out."

"Right. Yeah. Can I give you a hug?"

The second he asked the question, Hunk thought he'd made a mistake. The fear cycled back in Keith, tensing him all over, while he regarded Hunk with a wary stare.

"A… hug?" Keith said slowly.

"Yeah. You know, that thing people do where they sort of… bring their chests together and put their arms around each other? Actually, it sounds really weird put that way. Forget I said that."

"I know what a _hug_ is, Hunk. I'm not sheltered."

Hunk bit back a thousand or so points that would prove Keith was, in fact, ridiculously socially sheltered. "Can I hug you, though? I'll go slow, I promise. No lung-squishers."

Keith flinched at the thought of not being able to breathe again, but when his reaction made Hunk look particularly crestfallen, he withdrew his caution a little. "I… I guess so."

"Only if you're absolutely sure."

"Okay. Okay, uh… I'm sure. Yes, I mean. You can… give me a hug."

Hunk swelled with joy, but worked double-time within to contain himself. He approached Keith with gradual steps, widening his arms, while the smaller teen kept eyeing him dubiously. It was, in no uncertain terms, the most awkward moment Hunk had ever encountered in years. So, he decided to amend the procedure a little by talking his way through it.

"I'm gonna lean over a bit now," he said calmly; soothingly. "Here we go. I'm just gonna raise my arms, okay? You let me know any minute you feel like I need to stop, and I'll stop."

"Hunk. Not gonna lie, this is really kind of weird," Keith murmured, tilting away a little.

"Yeah, it is. But we can work through it. You ready? Here come the arms."

Keith turned a furious shade of scarlet, feeling all too much like a little kid, as Hunk embraced him. All sense of awkwardness vanished, however, when Hunk closed his arms. Panic began to pulse in its place, and Hunk must have sensed him going rigid, because he stopped there, just barely encircling Keith in his hold.

"This okay?" Hunk asked him.

Keith couldn't respond – not yet. He wasn't sure, yet, if he trusted himself to talk. He knew full well that all he had to do was say the word, or resist, and Hunk would give him space. Even so, he suddenly found himself recalling times with Shiro, when his older brother had eased him into the idea of simpler contact like handshakes and fist-bumps.

_Just relax, Keith. Relax, and let yourself trust that I won't harm you. You know me. You know I would never hurt you like that. Breathe slowly, and allow yourself to feel the safety._

And he did; he felt… safe? It was as unusual a concept as friendship, and one he wasn't sure he was used to just yet. But it _wasn't hostile_. At no point did Hunk ever tighten the embrace, instead relying on Keith's will alone to direct how this touch would go. There was no air of grotesque invasion; no hands caressed him in places he didn't want. No nails or needles or blades embedded themselves into his back.

He could relax here, maybe. Just for a little while. So he did, and found it wasn't so difficult to bring his shaking arms up, to return the gesture in kind.


	5. Chapter 5

On a scale from one to 'walking in on someone having special time with themselves,' Keith rated the dinner's Awkwardness Level at 'one-sided conversation with someone you don't realize is on the phone with another person.'

It was… _fine_. Dinner was fine. The food was excellent, yes, and Hunk had turned completely unknown ingredients into a culinary miracle. Keith would have been alright with walking in, eating his meal, and leaving with little more than a, 'So long, and thanks for all the space chili.'

This was not an option here, however, and in spite of the rather forced chatter happening between the alteans, Hunk, and Pidge, a heavy air still settled over the table, originating from a point somewhere near himself, and ending at the space currently occupied by a Paladin who was too nervous to even touch his food. Lance been strategically placed at the table in such a way that he would have to acknowledge Keith, and Keith would have to acknowledge him, but neither attempted to even look in the other's direction.

It was a little too much, and since no one had initiated any kind of address to deal with the yalmor in the room, Keith found himself adrift. _That_ particular mental space was far too easy to slip into; he still felt drained, and knew it would be some time before he recovered himself enough to be 'normal' again, whatever that word meant. This was assuming, of course, that something else didn't come along, and shove him headlong into hell all over again.

It was damned exhausting, and Keith knew he was staring too much.

He was quickly caught in a dead-zone, his eyes fixed on no particular aspect of the room, or the people around him. He knew it was considered acceptable to blink more than once a deca-phoebe, and move his body a bit more than was required to breathe, but now that he had walked into this mind-trap, there was no available function for him to even begin to comprehend how to do any of this _existence_ business.

Pidge might call it a 404 error. Or was it a 410 error? 500? All of the above? Whatever. _Keith isn't here right now. Please leave a message after the_ _television static_ _._

He was familiar with the numbness-that-wasn't – this gray mist of _nothing_ , and lingering echoes of shock, peppered with detached thoughts that floated around like dead rats in tepid, stagnant water. He hated it so, for the way it stole his control from the present, and most especially for the way it eventually attracted attention.

Oh, he noticed the others noticing him, alright, as they dropped into silence, one by one. He noticed, and could do absolutely nothing about it.

It wasn't the first time they had seen him merge into winter after a nuclear firestorm, but when he became stuck like this, it never seemed to get any easier to convince people to leave him the hell alone with his meaninglessness. Even when he couldn't quite see them, he still felt the looks his teammates kept tossing in his direction. Their unspoken concerns poured over him, between the scraping of sporks and the empty dregs of dying conversations: Was he alright? Was this a mistake? Would he go into another meltdown, and fling another strike at those foolish enough to come close?

The mists parted long enough for the ruthless fist of _regret_ to pummel him in the gut. The pain blossomed, then lingered, coiling around him, until it, too, pooled and joined the weird miasma that kept him rooted to the spot. He felt his eyes widen a little more at the sensation, but it was an autopilot reaction, nothing more.

"Keith?"

Of all the voices to pull at the little string that still tethered him to reality, he wasn't expecting _that_ one to come forward first. Hunk, yes. Pidge and Coran, maybe. Even Lance, he had anticipated.

But _her?_ The regret multiplied, rushing in like frenzied sharks to a drop of blood. He was rocked out of his abyss by it, the force of the storm setting his heart racing. The control of sight was thrust back into his hands, and his eyes shifted with terrible reluctance, to settle on the form entering his space.

"-you hear me, Keith?"

The tail end of the call made him stiffen. Allura – that was Allura. She was _too close_ , settling in the seat beside him, her face pinched with concern. She didn't reach for him – knew better now, perhaps – but her palm rested flat on the table between them. He shivered.

"Allura," his mouth blurted her name drunkenly, without control.

"Are you alright?" Allura repeated kindly. "Are you with us?"

"I…" Keith trailed off, wishing he could kick himself. He knew the tone she was using; recognized that she found him vulnerable, here at the helm of his rudderless, dilapidated ship. "I'm good," he said, with a little more edge than he intended. "Sorry."

"This isn't something you need to apologize for," Allura consoled. "It's not your fault."

Oh, _god_. _First Hunk, and now you?!_ Would everyone slip into this habit now, of telling him that vile little fib? He'd heard the hated platitude so many damn times, from social workers, school teachers, Garrison officers, random strangers… and even from Shiro. Maybe that's what made it more troubling to hear it again with such frequency now: that Shiro had been the only one to say that and truly mean it, after an endless, garbage-infested stream of insincerity and canned responses from others.

He blinked, startled, and suddenly had to wonder: Did Allura mean it, too? Had Hunk meant it? Why were they saying it?

This wasn't some dull Earth administrative office, blanketed in bureaucracy, and manned by empty, undead shells that were supposedly meant to be government workers. No, this was King Alfor's Castle of Lions: A jewel of Altea, proud and grand, and the last relic of an all but extinct civilization. Lies made of paperwork and circular, soulless systems were not the governors here, not even close. Princess Allura of Altea was, and she was the fiercest, most passionate warrior and diplomat he'd ever met.

She was not someone whose ass was stapled to a desk. She would not spout rehearsed, cardboard-cutout phrases at him. And she most certainly wouldn't shuffle him mindlessly along like some kind of tattered, worthless card without its deck. No, Allura was like Shiro and Hunk: Honest, powerful, and true. Real and tangible, in ways he was only just barely beginning to grasp.

Doubt and hope began to clash for first place in his head, as this epiphany stirred. And hope was winning.

Allura must have sensed it, because she was moving now, raising her hand ever so slightly, as if she sought to take his. He withdrew on impulse, sitting back in his chair a little, unsure what to make of this pending proximity alert. The familiar fear spiked again, bringing flashes of pain – faces, so many angry faces, bearing down and shouting at him for the sin of trying to _e_ _xist_ – but he just about managed to fight back, bringing it to heel.

_This is Allura. Your friend. Your teammate._ _U_ _nwavering beacon of endless hope._ _The heart of Voltron._

"You're real," he found himself saying slowly, awestruck.

Allura frowned in puzzlement. "That's right."

"You're _real_."

"Well, yes, I'd hope so, otherwise this would all be terribly strange. Are you quite sure you're alright, Keith?"

"You… no. No, this is… _Allura_ ," Keith forced out, turning his head to fully and competently meet her eyes, at long last. "Allura. Listen. I just wanna say that I'm… sorry. I am so sorry for… this. For hitting you. For making you worry. For everything. I'm sorry. And I'll make it up to you. I promise, I will. I owe you that much."

"You don't have to," Allura said, without hesitation, stopping herself from reaching out to him. "I accept your apology, Keith, and you don't _owe_ me anything. That's all there is to it, as your Earth saying goes. You are part of this team now. Whatever we must do to help you, we will. You are not alone, and you do not need to pay some kind of ridiculous price for our care. Do you understand?"

"But you-"

"I mean it," Allura whispered fiercely, holding his gaze. "I, who have lost everything, know too well what it is to be family, and I consider you such now. We are _both_ orphans, you and I. We have both had so much taken from us. And I will _not_ let you suffer alone, just as I know you would never let Coran or I, or anyone else here, suffer alone. We will never give up on you, Keith."

Keith's breath stilled in a final, rushing gasp that made his head spin. He stared at Allura with wide eyes, jaw agape at the truth, intensity, and raw _love_ of her statement, as his memory threw him back through the years. This time, however, he wasn't put at the mercy of the bullies or the abusers, nor even the countless people who had turned away when he most needed their help. This time, it was another face – one, among many – who had stayed.

And he remembered. God, how he remembered. Those were _Shiro's_ words.

_I_ _wi_ _ll never give up on you._ _But_ _more importantly, you_ _can't give up on yourself._

Impulse drove him to his next action, and before he even knew what he was doing, he'd reached out, and taken Allura's hand in his opposite, gripping strongly, conveying the strength of the emotions he couldn't speak.

It was enough to channel gratitude. Desperate, newborn gratitude. _Touch_ , beyond measure, that he could could not only accept, but give in kind. Following that simple gesture laid bare, Allura gripped right back, and smiled, with eyes that were far from dry – just like his own.

"Lance?! Hey, Lance, wait a minute, just- aw, jeez…"

Keith blinked out of his reverie in alarm, as Hunk's call, and the sound of a chair hastily scraping back, filled the air. He managed to clear away the haze in his mind just in time to see Lance's back, retreating through the doorway at the opposite end of the room. Keith thought he heard the sound of sobbing, too, but he couldn't be entirely sure. Not when Lance had left such a terrible silence in his wake.

"Well," Pidge started, with a grimace, "That was… successful?"

Hunk rose from his seat next. "I'm gonna make sure he's okay-"

"No."

Everyone froze, gazes slowly settling on Keith. Keith decisively ignored the questioning stares, clambering to his feet, as he quickly released Allura's hand.

"I'll go," he continued.

"Are you sure?" Coran broke in hesitantly. "He seems to be in the same state he was when the, ah… when you… forgive me, my boy, but I mean to say: When you had your episode."

Keith bit back a sigh. "I'm sure, Coran. This has to end."

"Please, yes," Pidge agreed. "I need you guys to start bickering like an old married couple again. The universe is out of balance without your stupid arguments."

"We don't _argue_. He says dumb things, and I set the record straight," Keith grumbled, making his way to the door.

"My case exactly. He's definitely your husband."

Keith ignored her, and before any of them could muster up a reservation, he was gone, in hot pursuit of Lance, as all trace of shaky doubt vanished with his new conviction.

"Tell the missus we still love him!" Pidge screeched after him.

"Pidge!" Hunk scolded, before he grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, maybe I should go, too. Damage control and whatnot."

"No," Allura spoke up with conviction, gazing thoughtfully down at her hand. "They _must_ do this, and I think the time for gentle mediation has passed now. If anyone is going to be able to get Lance completely back to normal, it's Keith. Even if they do argue seriously, I sense it may be necessary for recovery."

"But Keith is… he's still sick. If he can't take it-"

"He is unwell, I agree. But he has also found something within himself today, that I believe may have been buried when Shiro went missing. Something that will guide him forward again. I know there isn't ever an easy fix to such things, but… I believe it will be enough, for this."

"Princess?" Coran asked, puzzled.

"I don't know how I know this," Allura provided cryptically, "But it _was_ there. A... _change_ came over him."

"Yeah, I dunno what you guys did with your weird not-a-hug hand thing there, but he went right from vacant cafeteria robot, back to Impulsive Space Cat," Pidge added, nodding along. "I'll take it, whatever 'it' even is. I want Keith back, dammit. And _maybe_ Lance, too. We're just lucky the Empire is twiddling its giant purple thumbs lately, because otherwise this would be a complete clusterf-"

"Pidge," Hunk warned.

"-quiznak. A complete clusterquiznak."

" _Pidge!_ " Allura cried.

"You know what, I think I have some calipers to categorize. Let me know when the guys actually start talking to each other again. Thanks for dinner, Hunk!"

She scurried off before Hunk could catch her, and not a single one of them doubted for a second that she was on a mission to remotely eavesdrop on Keith and Lance. Secretly, they wanted to follow her, and crowd in, but locating Pidge during a spook-session would be a nigh-impossible feat now.

Which left the remnants of a semi-successful meal. Hunk sat back in his chair with a sigh, scooping Lance's untouched meal up with one hand, and devouring the lot in a single sweep.

He almost choked when Coran spoke up: "Hunk, I noticed you didn't include the traditional hydrofluoric acid sparklers with the table setting, among other oversights! Perhaps, while we wait, we could take a moment to review the Reconciliation Feast practices. It might serve you well, in the future-"

Hunk was up and gone, babbling out an excuse about the nonexistent mess in the kitchen, and leaving Allura and Coran to open a debate over where, exactly, they'd stored those sparklers.


	6. Chapter 6

The last thing Lance expected, when he opened his door to sneak out for some desperately-needed walking time, was to find himself face to face with Keith.

He recoiled in alarm, a yelp already escaping his lips, until he he completely processed that it was _Keith_ – _damaged! traumatized!_ his mind belted out – and the true surge of panic crashed into him. His eyes widened, and before he knew what his body was even doing, he'd slapped the door control shut again, sealing away the confrontation with a slab of metal and a childish prayer for concealment.

He froze, mouth hanging open, while a million-million little thoughts raced through his head, plaguing him with despair and harsh self-criticism. Why had he done that? The picture he'd had in his mind, of Keith shaking and flinching, didn't match with the present Keith: The folded arms, and the seemingly-permanent frown, melding with confusion. The Keith out there wasn't hiding his head from ghosts, so why had Lance closed that door?

"Lance. Open up."

The voice that carried through was dripping with irritation, but Lance heard something else there, too; something that matched with the dark circles that still lingered under Keith's eyes. An unfathomable exhaustion, brought from sleepless nights and a constant, waking coma of shock. All that was Lance's fault, he knew, and he didn't want to bring this burden back to Keith, when he was clearly still struggling from the flashbacks-

" _Lance_. I can't believe I'm gonna actually _say_ this, but _stop thinking_."

Lance straightened, aghast. "You don't know what I'm thinking!" he blurted, cursing the tears that had left his throat hoarse.

"Obviously! With the things you say half the time? I never do, and it scares me that I actually know this time," Keith shot back, deadpan.

And that… that had been a _joke_. Tired Keith had just joked – at his expense, sure, but _wow_. Lance was stunned.

"Listen, just open the door," Keith continued, sighing loudly. "Quit running in circles in your head."

"You don't know I'm doing that, either."

"If you don't open the door, I'll have Pidge break in. Permanently."

And just like that, his hand was back on the panel, acting once again without his permission. The door shot open, revealing that Keith hadn't moved an inch. The sight of him still put Lance on edge, but he resolved to hold his ground.

"She'd do it, too," Keith added.

"I _know_ what Tiny Satan is capable of, thank you very much," Lance snapped, before he faltered. "Um… what, uh, what did you… want?"

The last of his bumbling words choked out in a squeak, as Keith reached out and pushed him aside, entering the room without warning. He paced to the opposite wall, stopped, and turned, waiting with a tapping foot and raised eyebrow, while Lance's mouth bobbed open and closed like a fish's lips.

"Shut the door, maybe?" Keith suggested pointedly.

"Y-you know, most dates actually ask permission to come inside before-"

"No. _Do not_ make this weird. Just close the goddamn door, Lance. I wanna talk."

Lance's hand padded around the frame behind him, missing the panel several times, until chance finally scored him a successful hit of the button. It was only when he'd closed it, though, that he wondered if it had been a mistake. Here he was, trapped in his room, with Keith scrutinizing him and asking for a _talk_.

"Dios," he croaked.

"God's not here."

Lance scowled. "Okay, seriously, though. What do we even talk about, dude? The last time we spoke, I-" he swallowed his words abruptly, gaze dropping to the floor. "Never mind."

"No, keep going."

"With what?"

" _Lance_."

"It's nothing. Forget about it. There, see, we talked, time to go-"

Keith rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Why are you like this? I'm not gonna break down or whatever just because it's you, alright?" he said scathingly. "Can you just… relax? Please? This doesn't have to be hard-"

"You're the one who made this hard! How am I supposed to top that?" Lance interrupted bitterly.

"Top… what?" Keith blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You! I can't top you. Apparently I can never top you!" Lance shouted back, throwing his hands in the air. "How am I supposed to apologize, when you come out with something like _tha_ _t_ with Allura at Crisis Dinner?! You – the _least_ eloquent guy in the entire universe – give her an apology, and suddenly everything is okay, and she just forgives you, and then you're having some kind of bonding moment like it's nothing!"

Keith stared. "Bonding moment," he repeated, in exasperation.

" _Yes_."

"You _do_ remember!"

Lance held up a hand. "Nuh-uh. Not the subject of this discussion."

"…Lance. You are _not_ seriously having an apology competition with me and Allura right now."

"Well, maybe I am!"

" _Why?_ "

"Because it's you! And I am. Okay? I am. It's on now, Swayze. I-I'll… I'll find a way to top that! I'm making it a competition, starting now."

"No. No, you're not. That's crazy. You are _crazy_ , and I say that as someone who's actually crazy."

Lance halted in what would have been an epic pacing session, turning and paling. "No, dude. No, you're not crazy, okay? Having… having trauma doesn't mean you're crazy."

Keith shrugged passively, though he avoided looking directly at Lance. "Normal people don't space out, or freak out and stop speaking when others touch them."

"What even is 'normal,' man? You're not crazy, and- wait," Lance narrowed his eyes. "Stop changing the subject. This is about me apologizing to you!"

"Then apologize," Keith challenged, dropping right back into confrontation as easily as he swung swords in battle.

"You can't come in here and just _demand_ an apology like this!"

"I can if you're being dumb about it. Just do it, Lance!"

"This isn't a shoe commercial!"

"What the hell does that even mean?!"

"Oh my god, you are _so_ sheltered. I can't even."

"Gee, that's a great apology! I totally forgive you now! 'Hi, Keith, I just wanted to say you're sheltered.' Inspirational."

"It's not my fault you don't know what shoes are, Mr. Beersheba!"

Both had begun bellowing at the top of their lungs, inching closer and closer, with fists clenched, and teeth bared. It was only when they drew almost face to face, that they came to awareness about just how ridiculous the argument had gotten. Like mirror images of one another, they stopped, wide-eyed, before relaxing back, ire vanishing in a matter of ticks.

And then, Keith smiled.

It was a very _Keith_ countenance: fifty parts shy insecurity, forty parts smirk, and ten more parts outrageously gentle, hidden carefully within the other layers, so that anyone who didn't know him would have missed it entirely. Lance blinked, and took a moment to soak in the rarity of seeing that expression on Keith's face. Sure, it didn't belong with the bags still giving him the raccoon look, but it was thousands of light-years above and beyond misery.

"'Beersheba?'" Keith repeated. "That's a reach."

"Is it, though? I'm not wrong, and you know it. And how come you know _that_ , but not about shoes?"

"Doesn't matter. I'd like to see you try that one with Haggar, though."

Lance made a face, then pondered. "So, I'm not my mom," he eventually huffed in a quiet chuckle. "She does apologies a whole lot better than this, and you'd think I would've picked up some kind of skill from it by now. But… I'm still really sorry, dude."

"I know," Keith replied, as he hid away the smile, reverting back to his favored passive glower. "And I mean what I said."

"About what?"

"I do actually forgive you. You were scared, and… I get that. I get being too scared to see straight."

Lance winced. "Yeah, you don't have to remind me. You were terrified, and that was my fault. I just hope I didn't, like… make us not-friends forever. I want you to be able to count on me, you know? Without worrying and all. You're not a bad guy to know, Team Leader," Lance paused, drawing in his lips, determined he would hold back the water in his eyes while he was still in front of Keith. "I want you to be okay."

"I mean, I'm not okay," Keith mumbled, causing Lance's heart to seize up. "That's not really on you, though. It's just a thing that's always with me, and I don't really know if, uh… if I'll ever be completely okay. It's always been a lot bigger than everything else, so… I guess I'm just trying to say that… that it's not your-"

Keith stopped. Fully, functionally halted at catastrophic speed. His words died out right there, his mouth hanging frozen from where he'd been about to finish his thought.

"Are you alright?" Lance squeaked uncertainly. "What is it, what's wrong? You're not… oh, dios, please tell me you're still with me."

Slowly, Keith closed his jaw, recovering. His shoulders bunched a little, as he unsuccessfully attempted to straighten out of his tension, but there was no sign of disturbing distance in his eyes, and Lance cautiously took that as a good omen.

"It's not your fault," Keith whispered, dazed.

"I mean it kinda is-"

"No. Shut up, okay? Listen. I _mean it_ , Lance, and it's really freaking important you know that I mean it. It's not your fault," Keith looked at him with such earnest desperation that Lance found himself a little awestruck. "None of this is your fault."

Keith knew exactly what was coming then; knew, the second he voiced that phrase, that Lance wouldn't be able to go without replying.

"It's not your fault, either, Keith," he said softly.

And for the first time in a very, _very_ long old age, Keith didn't second-guess it at all. Shiro had meant it; Hunk had meant it; Allura, and Lance, had both meant it, and now, he found he did, as well. His smile returned in radiant force, and in no time at all, Lance was matching it with equal measure.

Far from Lance's room, in some hidden, darkened alcove, deep within the guts of the castle, Pidge shot up from her perch over her laptop, screaming, as she threw her hands in the air in hysterical triumph. All the while, the grainy spycam feed on the screen before her continued to dutifully record the unsuspecting duo, as they made their way out of Lance's room. They stayed together, side by side, with the unspoken reassurance between them that, even though things might not be _perfect_ , in the end, it would still somehow turn out okay, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally. This former one-shot escaped from captivity and rapidly reproduced, and is now an invasive species. Oops.
> 
> You know how you sometimes get a pair of dogs that absolutely lose their minds after hearing something dumb like a ringing doorbell? Those same dogs that then freak each other out 5ever afterward with their own yelping? That, to me, is a summary of Lance and Keith when they get scared together. Pair of sad idiots, suctioned into symbiotic terror.
> 
> PTSD is a bastard. Government-issue panic attacks are, too. Seen both crack tougher crabs than Keith. Wrote most of this based on a couple of my own more serious episodes, and on the ways people helped walk-and-talk me through them. Reviews and crits welcome.
> 
> Cross-posted from FF. Got beef and think I'm not me? Stay chill and DM me there or something.


End file.
